The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

Calmed, he returned to surveying his environment. This first, oblong area had green mould growing in the dampness, though he could tell that the walls themselves were finely wrought. There were few remains of what had once been stored here. As he looked cautiously around at the shattered ribs of old barrels, Falconer became aware of a rustling sound beyond the archway leading to the second section. He cautiously paced across the earth floor, wary of rats.

Reaching the archway, he poked the lantern into the second chamber and saw two forms huddled in the furthest corner. As the flickering light played on them, one moaned and held up a hand over his eyes. The other person lay quite still under his companion. They were both dressed in the black habit of the Cluniac monks, though both robes were spattered with the reddish mud common to the surrounding marshy land. The monk who had responded to the light of Falconer’s lantern turned a pasty face towards him and reached out a hand in supplication. It was a hand bathed in the blackish colour of congealed blood.

‘Help me.’

It was just a whisper, but no less heart-wrenching to Falconer for that. The blood-covered monk was not much more than a boy, with a thin, drawn face. Falconer looked beyond him at his companion. This one was past any earthly help, his tonsured skull a mess of blood, shards of bone and grey matter. Falconer hesitated a moment, thinking of Saphira Le Veske and her search for her son. Then he framed the inevitable question.

‘Martin…Menahem…is that you?’

The boy frowned and stared fearfully into Falconer’s eyes. It was then that William noticed splashes of blood on the boy’s face too.

‘How do you know my name? My real name?’

William breathed a sigh of relief on behalf of Saphira. Her son was alive, and the body had to be that of the other missing monk, Eudo. The problem was that Martin had been found in a locked room, crouched over the body with no one else present. And Falconer saw, lying close by Martin’s feet, the stave from an old barrel spattered with Eudo’s blood and brains. Martin had to be the killer.

Falconer looked down once again at the body of Brother Eudo. The splashes of blood and brain that spread in nauseous pools on the earthen floor radiated from where his head lay. There could be no question of him having been killed elsewhere and brought here to be hidden. The deed had been committed here, and Martin had been found behind a locked door. How could he be innocent? How could another man have been the murderer, only to spirit himself away through the solid and subterranean walls?

‘Menahem. We must be quick. Tell me, did you do this?’

A strangled moan escaped the boy’s throat.

‘No. Yes. It is all my fault. They wanted to know about the golem and the mystery of God’s creation. I led them to this.’

The golem. That was the name Saphira had used when telling Falconer of her husband’s dabbling in emulating God as creator. But he worried that Martin’s reply had been confused. He tried again to pin him down to the truth.

‘But did you kill Eudo?’

A sharp intake of breath from behind him made Falconer turn. Standing in the archway was the grim figure of John de Chartres. The prior was surveying the scene illuminated by the lantern and drawing the obvious conclusions from what he was observing. There was a strange look of satisfaction in his eyes, as if what he saw solved a problem for him. Falconer would have thought it made life even more difficult for the prior, but apparently not. While Falconer’s brain still raced, de Chartres commanded Brothers Thomas and Michael, who hovered behind him, to remove Eudo’s body. They shuffled reluctantly into the confined space and lifted the body at each end, flinching at the sight of the blood and brains. They might have expected Martin to try to flee, but he merely slumped to the earthen floor, stained with his friend’s blood.

‘This is what comes of introducing a viper into our midst.’

The prior’s comment was bitter and yet also truculent, full of hatred for Jews and their supposed evil ways. Falconer pursed his lips, refraining for the moment from forming a sharp reply. If there was anything to be done for Martin, he would need the acquiescence of the prior. To make of him an enemy would not be productive at this juncture. Besides, if by some miracle the murderer was someone other than the young Jew, it would have to be someone in the priory. John de Chartres himself could not be ruled out.

The prior touched Falconer’s arm, starting him from his reverie.

‘I shall go ahead and arrange for the body of Eudo to be laid in the side chapel. Will you stay on guard outside after Brother Thomas has locked the door? The boy can stay in here until we decide what is to be done.’

Falconer nodded, not intending to stay the other side of the door for long. If he could have the key, he could question Martin more successfully. And it would give him more time to examine the cellar more carefully for some clue to the conundrum facing him. He wondered where Saphira was now, and whether she knew her son was accused as a murderer. He left Martin in the inner room and walked out to the outer room with the prior. Following the body, they both climbed the steps. Once outside the cellar, Falconer offered to lock the door.

‘Let me take the key, Brother Michael. You appear to have your hands full.’

The cellarer grimaced at the thought of handing over any of his keys. But as he still had hold of Eudo’s legs it was an easy matter for Falconer to hook the large ring holding the keys from his belt. The cellarer grunted, struggling to maintain his hold on the body.

‘It’s the-’

‘Large rusty one. Yes, I noticed.’

While the two monks hefted the body on to one of a pile of hurdles stacked in the corner, Falconer locked the door and then detached the key from the ring. By the time Brother Michael had trotted back to retrieve his precious keys, one key was tucked safely in Falconer’s pouch. Having followed the monks across the floor of the storage area, Falconer stood quietly under the south-western end of the covered cloister. He watched as the sombre procession of prior and pallbearers, carrying their comrade’s body on the makeshift bier, wended its slow way around the colonnaded cloister walk and into the priory church by way of the side door. When the candlelit procession had disappeared, he glanced up at the sky. A thin sliver of the moon was beginning to reappear in the cloudy sky. The heavy rain had stopped, but an intermittent drizzle still swept across the marshes, and in the distance shards of lightning continued to illuminate the land. Far away, thunder rumbled across the broad expanse of the seething River Thames.

‘Saphira.’ He called out the woman’s name quietly, hoping she might simply be in the shadows. There was no response, and he tried again, a little louder this time. ‘Saphira.’

Maybe she had thought the body on the bier was that of her son and had followed the procession towards the church. Whatever the case, Falconer had no more time to waste. He quickly made his way back to the cellar door. Using the purloined key, he let himself into the lower cellar, locking the door behind him. Descending the steps, he called out so as not to startle the boy.

‘Martin.’

There was silence. He called out again as he got to the bottom of the steps.

‘Menahem. I am a friend. I know your mother, Saphira.’

Even the mention of his mother’s name failed to rouse the boy, and Falconer began to get worried. Had he been gone long enough for Martin to harm himself? He prayed not, and walked over to the inner room. It was empty. Bewildered, Falconer’s initial thought was that Martin had secreted himself in the outer room, hoping to outflank the Regent Master. Maybe Martin thought he would leave the cellar door unlocked, and he could make his escape. William quickly turned back on himself and held the light up in the outer room. There were the same few rotten barrels he remembered from his first cursory examination, but nowhere for a person to hide. To make doubly sure, Falconer poked the lantern into each of the large niches recessed into the walls. Nothing. Martin had simply disappeared.